


Vroom, Vroom, Biznitch.

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Garage Tapes [3]
Category: Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Bruce is having a bad time, DAMMIT JASON, Gen, NOW WITH PART TWO, bat-snacks, don't kid yourself you know who's to blame here, long-distance parenting, theft of a badass ride, these fools are gonna hurt themselves one day, you don't even have to click it to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: A tumbleweed blows by. Of course it does. This…this is punishment. This is the real reason no one ever steals the Batmobile.At least, that’s his first thought. He changes his mind when an ominous, ‘Mister Jones and me/tell each other fairy tales’ rings through the car.They’re dead. Well. Jason’s probably dead. Antoine might get out of this only grievously maimed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The car these idiots have got their hands on is an older model. Clearly Bruce upgrades: in regular canon, little Jason doesn’t get zapped unconscious when he jacks the tires, though he has to be ridiculously careful even trying to get close when he comes back to Gotham to put a bomb on it in Lost Days. GCG Batman isn’t expecting anyone to be dumb enough/have the free will to get near his car in the first place, hence the lack of lasers or anything.
> 
> Posting because I am literally trapped: my pitbull-mix-who-thinks-he's-a-Chihuahua is sleeping on my legs and I can't move. Or feel them. I will probably die here.

“Boss.” Antoine looks from Jason to the big, black monstrosity parked across the street. “You’re **kidding.** ”

Jason grins like a kid on Christmas. Or, possibly, the Grinch.

“Look at it.”

“No.”

“How fast you think that thing can go? Two, three hundred?”

“I don’t care.”

“Those tires are almost as big as us.”

“And they’ll flatten us like linguini if we get near them.”

“There’s worse ways to die.”

Well…

Yeah. Yeah, there really are worse ways to die. But still. He doesn’t wanna die at all, thanks. Death by the Bat? Hell no.

The Batmobile is unattended. Well. It **looks** unattended. Antoine suffers no illusions that the Bat himself won’t drop out of the sky, screeching like a thousand tormented souls, and end them if they get too close.

“C’mon.”

“No. No. You can get yourself killed, and y’know what, I won’t even have to feel bad explaining to everyone that, ‘yeah, the boss touched the Bat’s ride and got his head ripped off and punted into the street’.”

Jason shrugs, hops over a low wall, and scurries towards the…really, it’s not a car. It’s not a tank, either. The only word for it is **machine** -big, raw, and powerful, built to chase down and destroy literally every evil-doer, sad sack and jaywalker in the Garden.

And apparently, they’re gonna take it.

Jesus, take the wheel.

He follows, because what is he supposed to do here, and before he’s reconciled himself with the idea, they’re standing **right** next to it. It’s cold, and a little slick from the rain, and when Antoine risks giving it a poke, he finds that he doesn’t have any idea what it’s made of. Something heavy, that’s all he knows.

Jason drops down and works his way under the beast with a low, “Oh, **Jesus** …look at this…it’s okay, baby, daddy’s here to take you somewhere real nice…”

“Thought we were here for explosives?”

“Have you ever seen this thing in action? The amount of firepower on her would put a fleet of tanks to shame.”

…

They gotta have it. They gotta. For, uh, research purposes, yeah. Frank’ll be all over this.

Jason makes a downright obscene noise and squirms the rest of the way under the car. There’s a spark and the car-

-the top. It just sort of…slides…back, revealing a cockpit that looks more like a hacker’s desk than a driver’s seat. There’s a screen and a thousand buttons and at **least** three joysticks. Antoine hangs inside and runs his hands over the wheel. Ohh, man…it’s got just the right amount of **squish** to be a comfortable grip without being awkward…

Jason emerges, bits of gravel sticking to his jacket, and peers inside.

“Damn.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Get in.”

Now that he’s confronted with the inside, Antoine understands why people have a leather fetish. The seats alone probably cost more than their entire armory, and that’s including the black market price-jacking.

Okay…that looks like the gearshift, fine…that’s…he’s not sure what that is, it’s red and that usually means **boom** , and that…

The car slides closed. They aren’t electrocuted or anything, but the screen lights up and a mechanical voice says, “Good evening, -Batman-.”

Shit. Do they speak? Do they sit very still and hope nothing happens to them? Do they-

**Bzzt!**

The screen goes black. Antoine stares at Jason, who’s jammed a knife into the base of it, in horror.

“Really?”

“It’s fine.”

They’re doomed.

But maybe not today. It takes a good twenty minutes of fiddling with sticks and buttons, but eventually the motor rumbles to life, sounding like a big cat. Aww, yeah.

“There, see? Told you we could-FUCK!”

**THUD.**

Oh, no.

Crouched on the hood is what Antoine can only describe as the Devil. It’s big and black and radiating pure, unadulterated **rage.**

“Boss?”

“I don’t know.”

The Devil scowls at them and raises a fist. Antoine jerks, hand smacking against the red button completely by accident. The hood…

The hood just. It **springs** , is what it does, pops open like a jack-in-the-box lid, sending the Batman-THE GODDAMN BATMAN, TERROR OF THE GARDEN-flying into a hedge behind them. And then it just closes.

They’re gonna die.

They sit there for a few seconds, giggling nervously, before the hedge bursts into flames. Jason hits the gas pedal.

Antoine’s seen the car in motion before. That doesn’t mean shit when you’re inside, pinned back through the sheer force of speed. This thing’s gotta be clocking one-ninety, easy, but the engine’s not even grumbling yet.

They whip around the corner, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant and straight-up mowing down one of the reprogramming bots. The bot crumples, metal limbs crushed like soda cans under the massive tires.

“Where are we going?”

“Hell.”

Yeah, probably-aww, shiitake mushrooms.

The Bat’s shaken off his humiliation and bramble-scratches and is gliding towards them like the world’s most demonic flying squirrel.

“Boss?”

“What.”

“We got company.”

“Get rid of him!”

They take another hard turn and Antoine will swear on everything he holds dear that the car’s up on two wheels for a second. The Bat, somehow, looks angrier.

Antoine mashes a blue button. Nothing happens, at first, but then something pops up out of the trunk. Looks a little like a periscope.

It is not a periscope. It swivels a little before stilling and spitting out a stream of what looks like oil. Misses Batman by a mile, though.

Okay. Blue is oil. Red is hood. Green is-

-GREEN IS ROCKET THRUSTER. GREEN IS ROCKET THRUSTER. OH JESUS.

“What’d you do?”

“Green means go!”

They plow through a fruit stand, speedometer needle juuuuuust brushing against that 300 mark before falling back. Batman is nowhere to be seen.

“That was fun,” Jason says after a few minutes. Antoine feels around until he finds a seat belt. “This thing got Bat-snacks, you think?”

He’s about to complain, but it really won’t fit through the drive-through, and, uh, that was scary. Scary burns calories.

A search of the glove compartment yields a pack of-he couldn’t make this up if he tried-little bat-shaped…honestly, they look like goldfish crackers. Just, uh, not fish.

“Apparently the big, bad, Batman likes cheese crackers,” he says, holding up the bag. Jason cackles, a tad hysterical, and peels his hand off the wheel. Grimaces, wipes it against his shirt a few times, and gives up.

“Pour.”

They cruise around a little bit. Everyone hurries up to get the hell out of the way, which is really appreciated. It is pretty in here. Shame about all the mind-tampering and crap.

“So, uh, bossman,” he says, as the machine absolutely wrecks a curb because the boss misjudged the distance between it and that monster of a back tire, “how do we get out of the car?”

Silence.

“I don’t know.”

Well. At least there’s food in here.

THE END


	2. Freedom on My Mind

“We’re going to die in this car,” Jason announces. Antoine agrees with him. They’ve been sitting in it, parked in the literal middle of nowhere, for about half an hour. It has air conditioning, sure, but for how long?

Hour point seven-five: the Bat-snacks are gone. Unsure how much longer they can hold out.

He melts into the leather-fetish-worthy seat and gazes mournfully at the blistering sun outside.

“Maybe we should just drive it off a cliff,” he suggests. “End it quickly.”

“This fucker would survive the fall.” Yeah. Yeah, it probably would. “This is not how I wanted my second death to go.”

“This isn’t how I wanted my first death to go.”

A tumbleweed blows by. Of course it does. This…this is punishment. This is the real reason no one ever steals the Batmobile.

At least, that’s his first thought. He changes his mind when an ominous, **‘Mister Jones and me/tell each other fairy tales’** rings through the car.

They’re dead. Well. Jason’s probably dead. Antoine might get out of this only grievously maimed.

“Everything’s fine,” Jason says firmly. “Everything is a-okay.”

“Yup.”

**‘Stare at the beautiful women/she’s looking at you/ah, no, no, she’s looking at me.’**

“It was an honor working with you.”

“Likewise, sir.”

Jason fishes his phone from the inside of his jacket, looks like he’s considering some sort of religion, and pushes the answer button.

“Hi, Ma.”

“Jason. Peter. Todd.” Oooh. Straight for the jugular. “Why did I turn on the news to see Batman’s car careening through the Garden?”

“Guess somebody broke the law.” To be fair, it’s true. “They saying anything?”

The exasperated sigh is clearly a hand-me-down from generations of mothers. Or maybe it’s a skill they get. Obtain child, learn Exasperated Sigh. Kinda like how dads suddenly gain the worst possible sense of humor and loud sneezes.

“Jason.”

“Ye-es?”

“Cut the crap.”

Antoine thinks that maybe he’ll keep denying it. But he deflates and grumbles, “How.”

“One of Olli’s informants saw you.”

“Uncle O r **atted me out?** Why? I let him win last time we played poker!”

This would be funny if it weren’t Really Bad. But alas, it is Really Bad, and Olli (Antoine hasn’t met him) is an asshole and deserves to get an ingrown toenail and then to stub it.

“He was proud of you,” Dove says drily. “And also a little upset that you did something so amazingly stupid.”

“It all worked out in the end!”

“That’s not the point!” Oh boy. “Did you even think that through?”

No. Antoine will stake literally everything he owns, and what the hell, the base too, that the boss saw his chance and took it and that the only reason Batman didn’t kill them is because they got obscenely lucky.

“Of course I did!”

“Antoine?” FUCK. He’d hoped his presence had gone unnoticed. “What exactly happened?”

Batman? If, uh, if you want to come here, now, and get your car, that’d be great.

“It was there,” he says helplessly, hopes to God she doesn’t call a hitman or something. Jason sighs and well, maybe that’s not entirely a mom-thing. “And to be fair, we, uh, we made it.”

Another sigh, followed by a, “Really.”

“Sorry.”

“At least tell me you’re both unharmed.”

“We’re fine, Ma. You gotta **see** this thing, I swear it was hitting three hundred—” SHUT UP SHUT UP. “—and the turns it can make, Jes-us—”

Antoine buries his face in his hands.

“That’s not reassuring,” Dove says. “You promise you’re not hurt?”

“Not a scratch.” True…if you ignore their imminent demise due to being trapped in the car. “Well, Batman’s got scratches, but we’re fine.”

“Hrm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “I have to get some work done. You good?”

“We’re good. Gonna go over it for trackers right now.”

IF THEY EVER GET OUT.

“All right. Be **careful** , for once in your life. Both of you.”

“M’always careful!” Antoine has eyewitness evidence that this is, in fact, a blatant lie. “See you soon, okay?”

“Not in that car. Be safe, Jay. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Ma. Bye.”

Well. That could have been much worse. There could have been hitmen involved. Unfortunately, they’re still stuck here. Hitmen or no hitmen, would it have been so wrong to ask for help? Or at least advice? Just a little?

…eh, death by starvation isn’t that bad.

Jason moves his thumb over the gearshift and immediately yanks his hand back when the top snaps open. There is a small red button sitting inside. Before Antoine can protest, the fucker’s pushed it.

Antoine’s seatbelt snaps back and he has enough time to screech, “SHIT!” before the top flies open and his seat **sproings** upwards and outwards, faceplanting him into the sand. Ow. Hot damn.

“Hey, the car’s open!” No shit. Jason hangs half-over the opening and Antoine spares a second to think it would serve him right if the roof snaps shut and cuts him in half. “There’s one way to get out, I guess.”

He doesn’t have to die from the roof snapping shut, Antoine reasons. Hell, he doesn’t even have to be permanently maimed. Some nasty bruises, though, now those would be fair.

He straightens up, brushing sand and stickers from his clothes, and looks at the car. Out here, in the unforgiving sun, it’s somehow blacker and angrier than it was in the Garden. It’s seen some shit, though-the sides are scuffed like it rolled over at one point, and the tires are actually pretty worn down.

Jason hops out and moves his hands over the hood until it clicks open.

“Oh, **baby** …even the damn inside’s…look at this.”

“At least wait until it’s cooled down to make out with it, boss,” he snarks. That earns him a dirty look, but too bad. “Think we should call Frank to come and check for trackers?”

“Mm…”

Antoine considers shoving him in there and slamming the hood on him. What can he say, sand tastes like cat litter. Sand **is** cat litter. Sand is gross.

“How mad do you think my mom would be if we drove it over?”

Now, it would be pretty funny. But he would have to **go** , since they’re miles from base, and, uh, he does not wanna get caught in the crossfire.

“With all due respect, sir, she’d kill us both. Probably with the car.”

“Yeah…oh, well.”

It occurs to him that Batman might be on their asses. Sure, he’s nowhere to be seen, but…isn’t that kind of his thing? Though he’d probably stick out like a sore thumb out here. Too much sun.

There’s a **bzoom!** and the car…it goes dark, basically. Antoine hadn’t realized it was lit, but apparently it was. There’s less of a shine. Still a striking piece of work, though. If anything, it looks scarier this way. Like it could rise up behind you in a dark alley and eat you.

“Is it dead?”

“I think I pulled the power cable.” Oh, he **thinks** he pulled the power cable. Okay. Hopefully that wasn’t a bomb cable or something. “Okay, pretty lady, lemme see…”

He drops down and squirms under the car. Antoine has visions of it randomly flipping its tires sideways and squashing him. It would serve him right.

You know what, the boss can risk death. He’s calling the professional. His finger is literally on the button when the professional calls him.

“Hey, I was just about to—”

“What were you thinking?” Frank demands. “What was that? Which one of you thought that was a good idea?”

“I protested—”

“Where are you.”

“The middle of nowhere.”

“Stay on the phone, Jimmy’s running a trace.” But… “You don’t have to talk. Just think about where you went wrong.”

Oh, God. Frank’s gonna get here and he’s gonna **look** at them with that ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ face, like a bearded Mr. Rogers. Maybe they can get back in the car and drive away-NO. No! Better yet, **he** can get in the car and drive away, and Jason can stay here and face the consequences of his actions.

…he’d suffer. They’d hunt him down. But man, is it tempting.

No, he’ll sit here and hope the guys bring water bottles. And keep an eye out for Batman, just in case.

THE END


End file.
